


blue flowers

by ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jim Has Issues, M/M, Self-Harm, bones is a saint and amazing, spirk, t'pring and spock are friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:34:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly/pseuds/ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly
Summary: Spock had, at first, been mildly alarmed, and then fascinated when the small blue flowers had bloomed across the skin of his arms for the first time.“They grow in the wounds of your soulmate,” Amanda told him. Spock allowed himself a frown. “Illogical.”





	1. forget-me-nots

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the trigger warning.  
> Also this might be something I expand into a larger fic if people are interested, so let me know.  
> AN:  
> There will be a chapter two and three! I have chapter two planned, put chapter three needs a plot... But at least there will be a chapter two! Thanks for all the love on this fic, it means more than you can imagine.

Spock had, at first, been mildly alarmed, and then fascinated when the small blue flowers had bloomed across the skin of his arms for the first time. They most similarly represented a tattoo, he decided, except that watching them grow was similar to a fast-motion movie; like someone was using his arms to pain a flower’s life cycle; growth, bloom, and death. The fascination he held quickly turned to horror when his mother had explained the flowers to him. Horror at the decidedly human notion that he had a soulmate, and horror at what exactly, the flowers represented. He did not tell his mother where the flowers grew. Simply that they did. (“They grow in the wounds of your soulmate,” Amanda told him. Spock allowed himself a frown. “Illogical.” His mother didn’t respond, but something dark passed across her face. Something he didn’t understand, something that had been happening more recently.)  
Once again, he was watching the flowers bloom across his skin. They always grew in perfectly straight line across his lower arms. He looked up when T’Pring rounded the corner of the path, sliding down next to him.  
“Have you any further hypotheses on what is cause the wounds?” She asks. Spock shakes his head. T’Pring folds her hands gently in her lap. She does not offer further insight.  
“They have become more frequent.”  
“There is one advantage to their frequency.” Spock’s head snaps up, he’s ready to lecture T’Pring about how it is very much not advantageous. The dark wells of her eyes stop his tirade, though.  
“You know he is alive.” Spock does not respond, simply drops his gaze to the desert floor.  
“Perhaps.” They do not speak further on the subject.  
***  
Spock understands true panic almost two years after his conversation with T’Pring when he notices that there have not been any of the blue flowers in almost six weeks. The panic is blinding. T’Pring does not berate his humanness, she simply sits next to him while he panics.  
“I believe you were correct.” She only nods at his admission. His mind races as he tries to formulate a hypothesis for what happened. It is difficult, since he does not know what caused the wounds in the first place.  
“I grieve with thee.” Spock does not acknowledge T’Pring’s statement. To acknowledge it would mean to admit that he thought his soulmate was dead. To acknowledge it would mean to admit that he believed in soulmates at all. Which he does not. He willfully ignores that fact that his statement of disbelief directly conflicts with the physical, visceral reaction to the possibly of the person who creates the flowers on his skin being dead.  
***  
It is exactly three days, 17 hours, 19 minutes and 11 seconds after his conversation with T’Pring that Spock sees the flowers again. However, this time, it is in long lines across his back. From shoulder to hip, one side of ribs to the others, and any combination thereof. The heart in his side, the one he suspects is a lot more human than anyone, most of all himself, would like to admit aches as he watches the blue flowers decorate his skin, because somewhere, someone, is hurting the person who is supposedly made for him. The ache is almost superseded by the relief of knowing that the man is alive. He informs T’Pring the next day. She simply nods.  
***  
The flowers move. Spock admonishes himself for not thinking more clearly. The flowers always move, they act as living things growing across Spock’s skin. It is the location on which the flowers live and die that changes. Sometimes they appear on his legs. Other times across his stomach, other times over his ribs. However, they continue to remain a relative constant. Watching them, once again, dance across his forearms is a soothing, grounding, constant after declining his admission to the Vulcan Science Academy. T’Pring had been ecstatic, or as ecstatic as a Vulcan would ever be, when he told her. She’d immediately booked a flight on the same shuttle to the ship they would take Spock to San Francisco. She had told him, quote “You are my only friend. If you leave this desert rock for that human infested one, I am coming to.” Spock had not bothered to try arguing with her. She was an unstoppable force once she had decided on something.  
***  
The flowers follow him through the academy, onto the USS Yorktown, and back to the academy as an instructor. They days fly by, and a blue-eyed, cocky cadet has somehow beat his test. 7 hours of reading line after line of code, and Spock finds the little tiny, line of code the broke down his whole test. Spock would be impressed if he were not mad. The humans must be rubbing off on him.  
***  
Spock does not think that the words ‘fuck up’ blooming in flowers across his forearm is coincidentally timed to within 15 minutes of the alpha bridge crew finally being relieved after the destruction of Vulcan and subsequently Nero’s ship. Spock is startled to suddenly have the possible people who could be his soulmate dramatically reduced to the 23 persons who were just rotated off the bridge. It pales in comparison to the realization of the loss of his mother, the loss of his planet. He pushes the 23 crew members to the back of his mind.  
***  
It is another four weeks, three days, and 17 hours before the flowers, once again, bloom across Spock’s skin. Yet again, it coincides with the entire 23-person bridge crew returning to their quarters. Spock has spoken with T’Pring on the subject extensively seven days ago, and he does not like what her… research would not be a proper term as there will be no establishing facts or reaching new conclusions, merely conjecture. (“It is a practice I have only found in species that are psy-null. It is called ‘self-harm’ or ‘self-mutilation’. It is generally not a cry for attention, and those who partake in it go to great lengths to hide it. It is an extremely unhealthy coping mechanism. The most common forms are cutting, burning, and bruising.” Spock does not respond verbally, merely nods, but something cold and hard slithers down his spine to wrap around the heart in his side, squeezing it, and settling there, wrapped around it.) However, he does not know how to approach it with the Captain. He does not know how to start a conversation of conjecture which could result in one of the best officers in Starfleet being put on medical probation until they have been given clearance once again. Also, the conversation necessary to deem an officer unfit for duty is a panel interview with the Captain, the First Officer, and the Chief Medical Officer. He does not want to subject the alpha bridge officers to that with no real proof beyond conjecture and coincidences.  
***  
It has been one year, seven months, fourteen days, six hours, and twelve minutes since James Tiberius Kirk became Captain of USS Enterprise. At some point, Spock fell in love with his Captain. It happened slowly, over chess games, and late night paper work, and shared meals, and tense stand offs, and Jim relying unreservedly on Spock to always ‘have his six’.  
But now Jim is dying. And Spock never said ‘I love you’ because he didn’t want to ruin what they had if Jim did not return the sentiment. Now, that seems trivial. Jim is looking at him with red rimmed eyes, and Jim is putting his hand against the glass, and Jim is asking him, “Do you know why I went back for you?” And Spock wants to say “Because you love me” but he cannot have rejection be the last thing he knows from Jim, he cannot have rejecting someone be Jim’s last moment, so, as he feels a burning hot tear roll down his cheek, he says “Because you are my friend.” And his hand is matching Jim’s on the glass, and Jim’s sleeve slides down and Spock sees the white lines, the scars and he remembers the blue flowers that burst to life across his wrists, and Spock feels rage supersede the grief, and then James Tiberius Kirk is dead and Spock is going to murder Khan, he is going to rip him to shreds because he killed Spock’s soulmate.


	2. your eyes’ll tell it all (a window to the war that you’ve been through)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Tiberius Kirk is 10 when he realizes he feel completely numb inside. It’s normal he supposes. After all, his mother is constantly numb, flying through the frigid, blackness of space without him, and when she is home, she is just as much a ghost in the house as his father is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS   
> This one is hella depressing, with pretty graphic non-con, self harm, and just overall depressing. It is very much not a pretty story. Please please please don't read this if it will trigger you in any way.

James Tiberius Kirk is 10 when he realizes he feel completely numb inside. It’s normal he supposes. After all, his mother is constantly numb, flying through the frigid, blackness of space without him, and when she is home, she is just as much a ghost in the house as his father is. It has been one year since Sam left. He was numb and empty, too. Frank, Mom’s husband, is just as numb and empty as the rest of them. He just tries to fill that emptiness with alcohol. Jim can still feel Frank’s hands on his shoulders, sliding lower, sliding between his legs, still feel the rancid, alcohol-soaked breath fan across his face as Frank ignored to fact the nine-year-olds are much smaller than adults, as Frank ignored the fact that nine-year-old’s should not be the place for adults to spill their rage, and poison, and semen. Jim still remembers the pain from the first time, the scream no one but his pillow heard as Frank shoved into him while Frank shoved his face into the bed.   
Jim figures it should work, a knife to wrist. He pushes the tip in, and rips. It sounds oddly similar to tearing paper, he thinks. The blood is a lot warmer than he would have assumed as it rolls down his arm and pools in his cupped hand. It’s a peaceful bliss, watching the red pool in is hand. It’s a nice contrast to the empty whiteness that Jim’s been living in. He lets out a soft sigh, tilting his head back.   
***  
Jim knows it’s a bad idea to keep feeding this habit. Already he’s running out of space on his arm, but the neat, red lines across his arms are a soothing organization that he can’t find anywhere else. (Obsessively neat and organized as he might keep his room, it’s not the same.) He finds that he doesn’t really care though. He knows full well this is turning into a full-blown addiction, but he doesn’t really care about that either.  
***  
Frank is laughing at him.   
“Oh, you are so pathetic, don’t you know Jimmy? Cutting yourself? Really? You think anyone is going to care?” Jim just stands there and seethes, his vision going red. But Jim isn’t dumb, he knows he won’t be able to win a fight against Frank. Frank just laughs, and punches him across the face. “You know, it isn’t just pathetic. It’s disgusting. You’ll never be your father. You’re just a pathetic, disgusting disappointment to everyone. Even your mother hates you.” Jim can’t argue. Frank is right. His mother does hate him.   
So he drives the vintage car that his mom and dad bought and fixed together off a cliff. He’s not sure why he jumps out. It would be so much easier to just have followed the car over the edge. Then at least he would have died in a fiery explosion just like his dad.   
***  
9 days later, he’s on his way to a colony at the very edge of Federation space, far away from mom’s who are just as much ghosts as dead fathers, and far away from abusive, rapist, step-fathers. (Apparently his mom is filing for divorce. He’s just glad he’s not around for the fallout.  
He’s not exactly surprised that his habit of slicing his skin open with whatever sharp object happens to be handy follows him to Tarsus IV.  
***  
There’s no one coming. He isn’t naïve enough to believe that some backwater colony means anything to the Federation. That’s not to say Jim isn’t pissed, he has eight kids relying on him. (Eight kids who don’t know about his past, eight kids who don’t know how dirty his, the stains Frank has left, who don’t know what he lets the guards do to get the meager scraps he brings them, they don’t know how he spits blood and vomit onto the ground, how he cleans the blood off the inside of his thighs, they don’t know how he wishes he could slice his skin open, but he can’t because everything is resources and blood is too precious a resource to waist on something so trivial, especially when it still hurts so damn bad when the guards use him.)   
The whip rips through skin and into muscle as it cracks across his back. He barely holds back a scream. Kodos, the fucker, leans in close to his face.   
“Tell me where they are, and this will end.” Jim spits blood into Kodos’ face. It’s been six weeks and three weeks since he’s cut.   
***  
It doesn’t get better after Tarsus. That’s not to say it gets worse, more that it remains a steady, constant, terrible addiction. Sometimes, he gives his arms a break. Sometimes, he tears open his ribs, hoping it will make it easier to breath. Sometimes, he lets the blood roll down his thighs, maybe he can wash off the blood others left using him. The fact that Jim can regularly get people to fuck him to the point that he is bleeding and bruised helps too.   
***  
“And who am I, Captain Pike?” Pike tilts his head slightly, like he’s almost reconsidering the answer he originally had to that question.   
“You are your father’s son.” Jim snorts. He is not his father’s son. (He is his mother’s through and through. His damn blue eyes that he hates may be his fathers, but the slighter frame, his jaw, his nose, his high cheek bones are all his mother. And of course, if you look, really look, past the color of their eyes, mother and son carry the same emptiness inside. The same numbness.)  
***  
“I’ll do it in three.” And an aviophobic doctor who Jim dubs ‘Bones’ pukes on his shoes.   
***  
Jim isn’t surprised, per say, that Bones eventually figures out his past times of making himself bleed. The conversation following involved a lot less yelling than Jim was used to from the acerbic doctor.   
“This isn’t healthy, Jim. It isn’t normal.” Jim keeps his eyes firmly on the floor in front of him. The gentle heat against his side given off by the presence of another human being is far more soothing than Jim would ever admit.   
“I know, Bones.”   
“You should talk to a counselor Jim.” Jim shakes his head.   
“I can’t even talk to my best friend about this, Len. About why, or when, or any of this shit,” he sounds tired even to himself.   
“Well, I didn’t piss away my time and money on the psych degree for nothing, Jim. Let me list myself as your counselor, if only to cover your ass incase someone else finds out. Then you can say you have a counselor. And we’ll work on it, a little at a time. Baby steps.” Jim finally gives in and leans into Bones’ side.   
“Ok, Bones. Ok.”   
“Oh, kid.” Jim doesn’t move away when Len kisses the top of his head.   
***  
Jim is ready to say some choice words to that, sexy Vulcan instructor who’s panties are in a twist about Jim ‘fixing’ his test. The Kobayashi Maru is bullshit, and Jim is prepared to say that to the Vulcan’s face but then a distress call comes in… from Vulcan.   
And then Bones is sneaking Jim onto the USS Enterprise, and Jim is catapulting down to the planets surface and then he’s saving Pike, and he barely has time to breathe, never mind think about slicing his skin open, (but he still lost the planet, his still didn’t save Spock’s planet, his mother, anything and he starts mentally drafting a resignation letter,) and then he’s on a ball of ice, (and itsnt ironic, to be marooned on the physical representation of his soul?) and then he’s saying such vile things to a Vulcan who is doing all he can to keep his composer, his logic, the last damn thing he has left, and Jim has to rip it away anyway. He decides he deserves the almost-fatal strangulation he receives from Spock,) but he doesn’t have time to stop, to apologize because they’re still going and then Nero’s gone and dead, and the warp core is gone, and Jim feels it’s all he can do to keep the ship from falling apart underneath them.   
***  
The 23 alpha bridge crew members are finally rotated off the bridge. Jim grabs and old-fashioned letter opener out of Pike’s desk and carves ‘fuck up’ into his arm. That’s what he is after all.   
***  
Bones shows up long after the wound has stopped bleeding. He flops down on the couch next to Jim. Jim knows Bones knows he’s cut himself without even having to ask. Bones ruffles his hair and pulls him into his side.   
“It’s ok, Kiddo. It’s ok.”   
***  
It’s four weeks before Jim cuts again. Bones agrees, especially given the recent… events. (If you can even call them that. A plant and it’s billions of inhabitants are gone, Jim is now Captain, and his First Officer was brining him up on charges of Academic Dishonesty.) Bones says he still needs work, but Jim’s pretty sure the jibe is just to make him laugh. It works.   
***  
It’s on and off for the first year of his captaincy, and Bones is always supportive, and perpetually patient. (If perpetually grumpy and bitchy. It’s and odd combination, but Jim is used to it, and it’s nice to know that even though everything has changed, somethings will never change.)   
Jim never intended to fall in love, and especially with his First Officer. But over over chess games, and late night paper work, and shared meals, and tense stand offs, and Jim relying unreservedly on Spock to always have his six, it happened. And then he was breaking the Prime Directive, and Spock was almost dead (and Jim can’t begin to even try to comprehend that: a world without Spock in it), and then Khan, and Marcus and Jim knows he has to get in that warp core, and he punches Scotty, and Spock is there and he can’t dare tell him he loves him, not when he’s not sure that Spock loves him back. He couldn’t stand to have Spock walking away be the last thing he sees, he can’t watch his crew watch Spock walk away from him as he dies. So he asks “Do you know why I went back for you?” And Spock says, “Because you are my friend,” and it’s true, but it’s only partially the truth, but he puts his hand up on the glass, and tries his damndest to make the Vulcan salute. The darkness slowly creeps in, and the last thing he sees is the scars showing from under his gold command tunic and Spock’s hand pressed against the glass, as if Spock can somehow reach through the glass and change the inevitable.


	3. if you've lost your way (i will leave a light on)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t come crying to me if he throws you out. He isn’t going to react well to you trying to bring it up.” Spock simply nods. He supposes he should listen, the Doctor is Jim’s best friend, and arguably knows Jim better than anyone, but Spock finds he is unable to follow the man’s advice. He needs to make Jim stop injuring himself. He needs to make him see how illogical it is. The Doctor walks out of the room. Spock does not follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, it's finally done! I absolutley hate the ending, but here we are anyway so.... It wasn't beta'ed so any mistakes are my own. I'm shit at proof reading so sorry for any mistakes. This ones a little happier though promise

The good doctor slowly rolls the remaining bourbon around in his glass. He sighs.   
“I know.” Spock tilts his head.   
“You know?” Leonard sighs, downing the rest of the alcohol in one go.   
“How much do you know about addictions, Spock?” Spock tilts his head, considering the man before him. He had expected many responses to Spock informing him about the Captain’s self-harm. Questioning Spock’s knowledge on the psychology of human addictions was decidedly not one of them.   
“My knowledge on the subject is extremely limited.” Leonard nods, as if he expected that response.   
“More or less, self-harm is the same as any addiction. It’s a maladaptive coping mechanism. Now, I can’t tell you any more because of Doctor-Patient confidentiality, but I wouldn’t talk to Jim about it. He won’t react well.” Spock looks out the window of the hospital room. Jim is not here currently; he is at physical therapy, regaining strength to allow him to walk again.   
“I believe it is my duty as his first officer to do so.” The doctor snorts.   
“Don’t come crying to me if he throws you out. He isn’t going to react well to you trying to bring it up.” Spock simply nods. He supposes he should listen, the Doctor is Jim’s best friend, and arguably knows Jim better than anyone, but Spock finds he is unable to follow the man’s advice. He needs to make Jim stop injuring himself. He needs to make him see how illogical it is. The Doctor walks out of the room. Spock does not follow him.   
***  
“Captain.” Those blue eyes flash in San Francisco’s golden hour, turning to look up at Spock, the face holding them softening slightly and the corners of the plush, pink lips curling just slightly in the fond smile only bestowed on Spock.   
“How many times have to told you to call me Jim when we’re off duty?” Spock nods once.   
“Jim. When you were in the warp core…” He stops, unsure of how to phrase what he wants to say. “There were scars under the sleeve of your uniform.” Spock can see the muscle in Jim’s jaw jump, he can see Jim’s shoulders tense up, he can see the tension return to the muscles in Jim’s shoulders. “Jim, as your First Officer,”   
“Get out.” Spock feels himself freeze. “I said, get out Commander,” Jim hisses as Spock remains frozen in place.   
“Jim…”   
“Don’t.” Spock feels the heart in his side ache, and he desperately wishes his Mother were still alive.   
Very well, Jim.” Spock turns and walks through the garden on the roof into the elevators. He must call T’Pring and then meditate on this further.   
***  
“So, the green blooded hobgoblin tried to talk to you, did he?” Jim doesn’t respond to Bones as he sits next to him on the roof, but he eyes the two white boxes Bones is holding with suspicion. “I’ll take that super informative answer as a yes.” Jim doesn’t like the feeling he gets as Bones rakes his eyes over him. It feels like he’s being read like a picture book. “You threw him out didn’t you?”   
“What’s in the box, Bones?” Jim asks instead of responding.   
“Bribery.” Bones waves the box under Jim’s nose and Jim immediately feels his mouth water. There is a hamburger in that box. Jim wants it.   
“So. You threw the hobgoblin out.”   
“Yes. He said, ‘as your first officer’. I don’t want to talk to a damn first about this.” Bones doesn’t look at him, just watches the sun sink lower towards the Pacific. “Sometimes I swear he’s just dense on purpose!”   
“Mind your blood pressure,” Bones says. Jim just glares at him.   
“I’d talk to him as a friend but… He won’t understand. It’s not logical.” Bones doesn’t miss the way Jim spits the word ‘logical’ with a venom he doesn’t usually hold towards anything besides Tarsus or Frank.   
“And your crush?” Jim snorts.   
“That is the last thing I’m thinking about right now,” Jim says. Len nods.   
“To be expected.” And hands over the coveted hamburger.   
***  
Spock has not conversed with his Captain in seven weeks. It hurts far more than he thought it would, to experience the rage and grief of Jim’s death, only to have him taken away again, this time by Spock’s own hand. T’Pring is sitting across from him, cradling her cup of tea in her hand.   
“You fucked up.” Spock feels both his eyebrows raise.   
“Pardon?” T’Pring lets out a small huff of frustration. She has allowed herself to become rather… human. Spock is not surprised.   
“You should have listened to the Doctor. I want to meet him. He was right. Humans often perceive self-injury as a weakness, something to hide.” Spock allows himself a frown.   
“It is illogical, it is not a weakness, but it is unhealthy. It must stop.” T’Pring narrows her eyes at him.   
“I’m not saying it doesn’t need to stop.” Spock opens his mouth, but T’Pring does not let him speak. “You remember when you first saw the blue flowers.” Spock nods even though it is not a question. “How old would Jim have been?” Spock pauses, frowning as he realizes the implications of what T’Pring is saying.   
“He started harming himself when he was ten.” It hurts far more than Spock thought it would to say it out loud.   
“He grew up thinking, and knowing, this one way to cope. For him, it is most similar to our meditation. You said he was working with the Doctor.”   
“Yes.”   
“Then that is all you can expect of him.”   
“I still do not understand.” T’Pring shrugs.   
“I do not understand either. No Vulcan ever will. No fellow officer ever will.” Spock senses that she is implicating something, but he does not understand what.   
“Speak plainly, T’Pring. Do no mince your words.” The Vulcan across from him studies him for a moment before dropping her chin a fraction of an inch.   
“Very well, Spock. You claimed that you where his friend. Yet when you went to discuss his greatest shame, his sorrow, the subject he goes blatantly out of his way to keep hidden, you did not approach as a friend. You did not approach to learn, but to tell. To dictate. He knows that self-injury is not logical. He is aware that it is unhealthy, and he wants to make it better. Otherwise, he would not be seeking help from the Doctor. Asking for help, and admitting weakness, is a very painful, hard thing to do. He most likely never told you because he assumed, and rightly so it seems, that you would not react as a friend, but as an officer. As someone who would dictate, and monitor, and question because of it. He already has his doctor. What he needed was a friend, and you denied him that. Your seven weeks of silence have not assisted in countering whatever negative thoughts he maybe having. Most likely, he assumes you are no longer friends. I am one hundred percent certain you being in love with him is not even remotely an idea for him, when you and I are quite aware that the opposite is true.” Spock does not regret, because Vulcans do not experience the emotion of regret, but hearing T’Pring inform him of what Spock had already inferred hurt. Losing his friendship with Jim, even if it does not grow beyond that, is something Spock has been avoiding in his meditation. T’Pring says nothing else, simply sips her tea and lets him ruminate. He almost wants to accuse her of being cruel for that, but Vulcans are above such things.   
“How do I fix it?”   
“Be honest. Ask his best friend. Admit you made a mistake.”   
***  
“Jim.” Spock thinks his voice is softer than normal. Jim, for his part, hardly reacts. He just looks tired. He doesn’t say anything as Spock sits in the chair next to his bed. “I have made a grievous mistake. And I have hurt you.” Spock watches Jim raise both eyebrows. “I took what you perceived as your greatest shame, your greatest weakness, and I did not react as a friend. I did not react as I should have. I should have simply listened. I have been informed that is what friends are supposed to do.” Spock tilts his head. Jim doesn’t say anything for a long time.   
“I can’t explain it Spock. It’s not logical.”   
“Where humans are concerned, it seldom is.” The retort is not met with the laugh Spock has come to expect from his captain. Spock willfully represses the urge to grab Jim’s hand. “Should you desire, I am here to listen.” Jim finally meets Spock’s eyes, and doesn’t say anything for a very long time.   
“Ok, Spock. Ok.” They sit in silence that is neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, neither full nor empty, neither heavy nor light. Spock watches the monitors of the biobed, and feels Jim glancing at him when he occasionally looks away from the bay out the window behind Spock.   
***  
“You’ve been avoiding me, Spock.” Spock doesn’t look startled, even in his Vulcan-non-startled way that he usually does, which means that Spock was expecting him. Jim tilts his head to get a better look at his first officer.   
“We have been in space for 5 months, three weeks, and six days.” Jim raises an eyebrow.   
“I know, Spock.”   
“You have injured yourself only three times during that time.” Jim frowns.   
“How the hell did you know that?” Spock doesn’t meet his eyes, instead returns to starring out at the stars blurring by into ribbons of light as the Enterprise sails by them at a steady warp 4. Jim watches Spock take a visibly deeper breath, and it worries him.   
“Jim, are you aware of the genetic anomaly found in humans that allows flowers to grow in the wounds of their soulmates?” Jim feels something twist in his chest. He doesn’t dare to call it hope.   
“I am.”   
“They are Boraginaceae Myosotis. Your colloquial term for them would be forget me nots. They have appeared on my left arm twice, and my ribs once.” Jim doesn’t say anything, just feels his heart rate sky rocket. Spock is his soulmate. Spock. Is his. Soulmate. Jesus Christ, how did he get so lucky? “I wish to extend a formal request to begin courting you, Jim.” Jim is pretty sure this is the first time Spock has called him by his first name unprompted. So he leans in and kisses him.  
***  
Jim runs his hands through space black hair again as Spock pressed his lips to scars over Jim’s ribs.   
“You do that a lot.” He murmurs. Spock tilts his head back and cocks his head. “Why?”   
“I do not wish it to become something it is not. I do not want it to become a point of stress or contention between us.” A bight, golden, wave of love rushes over the bond and into his head. Spock pushes back up to firmly kiss his bondmate.


End file.
